


What You Deserve

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Olympics RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I wanted to know why Phelps <i>really</i> gave up that relay berth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Deserve

"What the  _fuck_ ," Ian Crocker began before the door had even opened halfway, "was that out there today? Why the hell did you just give me your chance for seven?" The door shut firmly behind him.

Michael Phelps was rubbing his hair with a towel and sitting on his bed. "You deserve it," he replied. "Everyone knows you're better at the butterfly than I am, and - "

"Bullshit," Ian said. "You beat me in the prelims. So why?"

"Honestly?" Michael stopped rubbing. He looked up at Crocker for a moment, then tossed the damp towel in his face. "You're a big boy. You figure it out." He headed for the exit.

Ian sputtered around the towel and threw it aside. "Don't make me follow you into the hallway and make a scene, Phelps," he warned. "Stop, turn around, and tell me."

Michael halted his steps and rolled his eyes. "Because I'm so horny that I just about gnaw the inside of my cheek raw, every time I get up on the blocks," he said. "Fucking Olympics. They're great for glory and all that, but watching all those guys walk around with their _incredible_ bodies, while I've got twelve TV cameras trained on my every movement, is torture."

"So let me get this straight. Er, not so straight, but anyway. You gave up your berth in the relay because you were sporting wood?" Ian sat down on the bed that Michael had vacated. "You're insane."

"And what would you have suggested, Crocker?"

"A blow job?" Ian said, as if stating the obvious.

"A... blow job." Michael looked at Ian oddly.

"Yeah, you know that thing where I pull down your pants and suck you until you have an come?"

The standing athlete furrowed his brow. "Actually I don't kn - "

"But you're going to have to come over here. I can't risk bruised knees."

Michael's eyes widened slightly and his mouth fell open. He looked at Ian, unsure of whether to say, 'Are you on crack?' or 'Why didn't you offer to suck me off before I gave you that relay spot?' so he chose his third option: he dropped his pants. He kicked them off as he approached the bed warily, nearly tripping on one of the legs.

"Graceful," Ian noted.

"Hey, there's no law that says swimmers have to float around like ballerinas when they're on land," he grumbled. He glanced at the other swimmer. "You know, I'm feeling kinda naked here..."

"What?" Crocker asked. "Oh, right." He shucked off his clothes and flopped backwards on the bed. "Your bed is much more comfortable than mine. Why do you think that is?"

"Clearly, they give them out according to talent," Michael said with a momentarily boastful smile.

"Comfy furniture for the slower athletes?" Crocker suggested, and ducked a throw pillow that was flung in the direction of his head when Michael sat down near the headboard.

"So," Michael said.

"So," the other man replied, and Michael wondered how he'd gotten up next to him so fast. Then there were lips - _oh_ \- nudging his, and he decided he didn't really care. He curled his hand around the back of Crocker's neck and pulled him closer, wiggling his hips in an attempt to achieve gratification.

Crocker pulled away a little. "Easy," he said. "For once, it's not a race." He pressed a couple lazy kisses to the side of Michael's throat, flicked a moist tongue over his pulse, and withdrew again.

"Curfew," Michael muttered.

"Don't worry about it," the other swimmer returned. "I'll be fine. Just... relax." He slid a hand down Michael's side and back up, circling the heel of his hand lightly over a taut nipple. "You have the most... _gorgeous_ hipbones."

"Hmm?" Michael wasn't really paying attention to a word Crocker said. He was focused on more important matters, such as 'Blowjob, now, thanks.'

A lick to his left nipple, gentle teeth on his right, a hot mouth trailing down his abdomen, and then - "I just have to _lick_ them." - hot and wet patterns being drawn by an agile tongue over the crease between thigh and torso.

Michael whimpered. His dick nudged Crocker's cheek, leaving a streak of moisture across it.

The man on top glanced at his bedmate's face. "Oh, I _did_ say something about sucking you until you come, didn't I?" he asked in a teasing voice.

"Crocker," Michael said in a low voice, "if you don't hurry up, I'm going to lock myself in the bathroom and jerk off."

"Calm down," Crocker said again, accompanying his words with a tiny lick to the tip of Michael's dick. "Good thing you're not swimming tomorrow," he said.

"Why not?" Michael asked.

"Because you've got an inch-wide hickey on your left hipbone."

Before Michael could ponder that remark, Crocker had sucked his cock down his throat. He made a sound similar to "Gaaaaah," although if he'd been asked what he meant by it he wouldn't have been able to string together the coherent thoughts needed to form a sentence. Or even a word.

It seemed that Ian Crocker's other talent had nothing to do with swimming.

The sheets were so tight in Michael's grip that they nearly tore. His hips raised and lowered with Crocker's mouth, seeking more of that flicking tongue and soft heat. Little, strangled noises formed at the back of his throat, mingling with the wet sounds of Crocker's slurping lips around his dick.

He threw one leg out, his foot coming to rest on the cool sheets, and his toes curled. His abs contracted, his balls drew up, and he scrabbled at the bed with his hands as Crocker tickled his perineum. He came with a stifled cry, his eyes closed and his whole body tense.

Moments later, he heard a soft moan and felt a sticky heat spreading on his belly, and then there was a firm weight pressing down on him. Ian pressed his lips to Michael's cheek, then rolled off him and onto his side. He trailed a finger down Michael's chest and dragged the tip slowly through the mess on his belly, drawing absent patterns in come on his skin.

"That was nice," Ian said decisively. "But do me a favor and _tell_ me the next time you want to get off, instead of giving me a coronary while we're poolside in front of the press." Then he smushed his face into Michael's shoulder and fell asleep.

Michael sighed, patted Ian's back a couple times, and drifted off quietly.


End file.
